


who you think about in bed

by gravitational



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Hand Jobs, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Masturbation, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-01-16 02:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21263453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravitational/pseuds/gravitational
Summary: Eddie hates himself for his dreams, but what else is he supposed to do?





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> 8\. Masturbation - Richie / Eddie
> 
> "Lying Is The Most Fun..." - Panic! at the Disco

Eddie _is not_ in love with Richie Tozier.

That's stupid, that's impossible, it's wrong, or at least that's what everyone says. He's pretty sure his mom would castrate him if she knew Richie had taught him that word, and he doesn't even want to know what she would do if she found out he -

But he doesn't, so it's no problem at all.

No problem at all, except for the way his best friend keeps finding his way into his dreams. They're vague at first, just flashes of images: Richie's arm around his shoulder, his head on Richie's chest, Richie's crooked smile when he laughs too loudly... he doesn't think much of these dreams, not until he realizes that none of the rest of his friends appear in them in quite the same way.

... It's no problem at all.

Not until the dreams change as he gets older, as Richie's dick jokes become way, way more frequent and Eddie's own body starts to take interest. It's around their freshman year that Richie starts playing a... different role in his dreams, and it isn't much long after that before Eddie starts waking up half-hard and bright red with shame.

His mother wakes up the first time he tries to run a cold shower at two in the morning, and he does _not_ want to deal with that talk again.

So, doing his best to ignore everything that this _might_ say about him and how he sees his best friend, Eddie starts doing the only logical next step for any decent teenage boy, and... well.

Eddie wakes up one night, at first more bewildered than anything. He'd gone to bed early, after Richie said he probably couldn't come over that night, and he's usually a pretty heavy sleeper, at least except for the dreams - and then he remembers. It's because of a dream that he's awake right now, and it's because of a dream that he's fucking _aching,_ his cock hard and heavy between his thighs.

With a frustrated sigh, Eddie shifts to roll onto his back, kicking his sheet down to the foot of the bed so he isn't confined. He feels as though he's burning up, his skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat even though he only barely woke up - burning from the inside out, his next breath coming out as a ragged gasp.

Even as he drops a hand to adjust himself, he bites back a groan, the first brush of his palm enough to drive him halfway mad. He hates himself for this, hates that he's waking up from envisioning Richie's hand against him instead... but he can't stop, God knows he's tried - he can't even keep himself from bucking up into his own touch, innocent though his intentions were.

He lays there for all of a minute, legs halfway spread, his other hand covering his eyes, before he gives in; how can he not, when every little shift of his body sends a fresh rush of desire through him? Eddie bites his lip, cautiously lets his legs fall apart, finally palms himself with intent, and fuck, okay - yeah, there's no way he's getting back to sleep like this.

It's been a while since this became his new routine, but that doesn't mean it's any easier, nor that he doesn't feel wrong, deep down. What if his mom heard? What if Richie found out, somehow? What if _any_ of his friends found out? He doesn't even want to know what they'd do to him - well, maybe he wants to know what Richie would do... his hands are so much bigger than his own, after all, and they could do so much more, he's sure...

Almost as he realizes his train of thought has veered far, far away from anything appropriate for just friends - _that's all we are, just friends, we're just friends_ \- the image of Richie's hands on him instead crashes into his head, and he chokes back a groan, squeezing his eyes shut. Fuck, he's so going to hell.

Eddie fumbles to shove his shorts down then, squirming until they're hanging off one ankle and just leaving them there in favor of pushing his briefs down just enough to wrap one hand around himself; the first hint of skin-on-skin tears a ragged moan from his throat, only barely muffled by the palm still crushed over his mouth. He arches up a little, whining out in spite of himself as he settles into a tentative rhythm, his touch amateur and so obviously hesitant, but it's enough.

It's just barely enough.

He tightens his fingers cautiously around himself, his head dropping back as he pushes up into his own touch. This is wrong, he knows that, but fuck, it's really fucking hard to care. Breathing out shakily, he swipes a tentative thumb across the head of his cock, ashamed by the amount of fluid beading there. _No one should be this hard for their fucking friend_ \- and yet here he is, fucking up into his fist to the thought of his best friend kneeling between his thighs, touching him, helping him, watching him, talking to him... fuck, _talking_ to him...

It's with a rough, broken groan that he bucks up then, only barely silencing himself in time. Richie's mouth is a fucking menace at the best of times, but he's heard it say some filthy things before, things that make Eddie blush even when they're nowhere near directed him... he can only imagine what Richie would have to say now, what he'd tell him to do - 

\- fuck.

That shouldn't be so fucking hot.

Eddie bites back a groan as he rocks up into his hand, grip tightening that much more until he keens against his palm, his back arching. He's heard people talking about what _gays_ do to eachother - hell, Richie's mentioned it before, cracked jokes and tried to coax Eddie to do the same. God knows he's not about to try... _that,_ at least not any time soon, certainly not now, but... he thinks if Richie were here, if Richie told him to, things might be different. Maybe...

Maybe then it wouldn't be so hard for him to reach for the lube he's kept in his nightstand drawer _just in case, fuck, he's such a bad person,_ for him to slick up his fingers and... and push them inside, work himself open under Richie's eyes - _for_ Richie, fuck, _fuck - _

He gasps out a whine, bracing one foot against the sheets as his body writhes. One more swipe across the head of his cock has him shuddering, hips convulsing under the rush of sensation; he's young, inexperienced, far too fucking new to all of this, but god, he wants, he wants, he _wants,_ he knows it's wrong but he wants, no, he _needs_ Richie here right now, above him, against him, inside him - 

The sob he gives at that thought startles him, but it's too late to take it back, even as he flushes red with humiliation; he's crying for his best friend's cock, crying for it even though he _knows_ it'll never happen, even though he knows Richie would hate him if he knew... but what if he didn't? What if he were here right now, kneeling there, one hand on his cock and the other inside him and his lips against his own, and fuck, fuck, _fuck - _

Eddie falls apart before he can force his next breath, moaning out far too fucking loud against his palm as he comes into his hand, the wet heat of it enough to make him whine as the image of Richie flashes through his head again - Richie coming into his hand, onto his skin, inside him...

He's fucking trembling as he goes still, tears running down his cheeks and every breath labored; with a shaky gasp, he drops his hands to his sides, only to raise them to cover his face a moment later, wincing at the stickiness on his palm, but the discomfort isn't enough to stop him. How can he ever face - 

"Holy fuck... Eds?"


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got it updated! Third and final chapter on the way.
> 
> Co-written with komaedahatepage.

Eddie feels his heart skip and drop simultaneously, a strange convulsion in his chest right before panic sets in. There's no way - but no, that's Richie's voice, loud and clear, and that's the sound of Richie clambering his way in through the window, his usual caution evidently thrown to the wind. Distantly, he's worried that his mom will hear, but he's got way, way, way worse problems right now.

He scrambles into motion a moment later, fumbling for the sheets where he'd kicked them to the foot of the bed - maybe it's not too late to hide, maybe he can still salvage at least _some_ of his dignity - but he makes it only halfway upright before he realizes it's futile. Richie is motionless by the window, eyes wide, and he's just... he's just staring.

At him.

He'd gone pale the moment he heard Richie's voice, but now, Eddie's back to bright red as shame sets in. There's no way Richie will even want to talk to him now. "I'm sorry," he blurts out, grabbing for the sheets and pulling them up around his hips, up over his chest, still flushed pink from moments before. "I - I'm sorry, I didn't think you were gonna come over, I went - I went to sleep..."

Richie doesn't say a word, but his throat works as he swallows, his own face turning red. _He's gonna leave, he's gonna leave you now and he'll - he'll never come back, you fucked up, you fucking fucked up, god - _

Eddie's fumbling for something, anything, god, _anything,_ to say, anything to make Richie quit _staring_ like that. "I thought you couldn't come over," he goes on weakly, hating himself for the tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. Not even caring about the stickiness drying on his palm now, he swipes the back of that hand across his eyes, clearing his throat as he mumbles, "You weren't - you weren't supposed to see this, I'm sorry, if you - if you leave, it's fine - "

Somehow, that's what snaps Richie out of the stupor he's been in. His eyes go even wider - _that's possible?_ \- in the moment before he shakes his head, stumbling into motion and coming to kneel halfway on the edge of the bed. The hand Richie extends makes Eddie jerk away, fear and doubt rising up in the back of his throat; only a second later, Richie drops his hand, saying in a tone that's just as choked up as it is unsure, "Wait, Eds - Eds, don't cry, it's... it's fine. I should'a knocked, I'm sorry. I wasn't gonna come over, really, I just - I couldn't sleep, and I figured..."

Richie trails off, leaving Eddie tense and impossibly on edge, wide eyes on his friend. "I - I'm sorry," he repeats a little blankly, only barely able to process what Richie's saying. "You can - you can stay, if you... if you want, I just have to... clean up." He hesitates, clears his throat, finishes a little lamely, "You can leave, though, if you... want."

"No," Richie breaks in, with enough force that Eddie flinches again, bewildered and afraid. As if he realizes his mistake, Richie subsides, his mouth working in pointless silence for a moment before he nearly forces out the words, "I'll... I'll stay. If it's okay. I won't, like, look or anything - cross my heart."

_That's the problem, that's the fucking problem, you don't get it, I **want** you to look, I - _

"Okay," Eddie replies at length, his voice weak and uncertain. He stalls just another moment before he forces himself to move, shifting cautiously under the sheet he'd pulled up around himself to get at least his briefs back on; the little hiss he gives when the fabric rubs against his oversensitive skin is one he doesn't manage to stifle in time.

He has to be imagining the way Richie's breath hitches to his right.

Face burning a nearly-painful shade of crimson, he unfolds himself from the bed, making a beeline for the bathroom on unstable legs. He doesn't bother looking back to see if Richie is watching, and he all but throws his weight against the door to close it behind him. _Good job, fucking dumbass, what if your mom hears? You're fucked, you're so fucking fucked - _

He's crying before he knows it, doubling over against the door to bury his face in his hands. There's no way he'll make it out of this okay, he'll be fucking lucky if Richie even talks to him again after tonight, and Richie doesn't even _know,_ he has no clue, there's no way he could know - and god, if he figures it out...

Eddie has no idea how long he spends there, sobbing against the door and trying to muffle it in his arms, before he gets it together enough to straighten up, to reach for a washcloth and make a halfhearted attempt at getting clean. With a final splash of cold water to his face, he pushes open the door again, arms tight around himself as he heads back out into his room. However long it's been, it's long enough for Richie to have settled himself against the headboard on the far, far end, staring down at his phone with concerning intensity.

Eddie is so, so fucked.

He veers toward his closet, grabbing the first hoodie he finds and pulling it on with haste - he usually sleeps barechested, at least in the summer, but why the hell did he have to pick tonight to forgo a shirt? By the time Eddie realizes the hoodie he'd grabbed is one Richie left in his room and never reclaimed, he's already wrapping his arms back around his waist and coming to sit on the opposite edge of his bed, fingers playing with the hem.

He'll never admit he kept it because it stills smells of cigarette smoke and cinnamon gum.

"Why didn't you text me?" he manages to ask, wincing at the way his voice cracks. Beside him, Richie tenses a little, setting his phone aside.

"I did," he replies belatedly, pushing away from the headboard to sit crosslegged. "You were... you were busy."

Oh.

"Oh," Eddie mumbles, looking away. "I didn't... think you'd turn up. I was - I was trying to sleep."

Richie shrugs, his voice more serious than Eddie thinks he's ever heard it when he replies, "It's okay, really. It's my fault, anyway - I should've waited for you to text me back."

Far too hung up on the fact that Richie's actually apologizing for something - something that isn't even his fault - to remember that he should probably reply, Eddie's quiet for a good beat before Richie coughs a little, stirring on the bed as if he's about to turn away. "No, it's - it's fine," he protests, glancing back up. "It's fine."

"I didn't mean to... make you uncomfortable or anything," Richie goes on, and it sounds like he's fumbling for words just as badly. Eddie isn't sure if that makes this any better, or if it makes it worse. "I know it's, like, wrong and all that, I'm sorry - "

_He thinks it's wrong. He thinks it's wrong, fuck, he hates you, you fucked up._

Biting back the bile that threatens to rise in his throat, Eddie shakes his head, breaking him off in a voice that cracks with unease, "It's fine, seriously. It's fine, can we just - can we just forget it? Please?"

His urgency has to be coming across pretty damn easily, because Richie is reaching for him in the next moment, extending an open palm. "Hey," he breaks in softly, steadying his voice at least this much, "don't beat yourself up over it, alright? Seriously."

Eddie cuts himself off with some difficulty, stifling his automatic protests and watching his hand with the sort of nervous distrust with which he usually regards his mom. "Thought you'd hate me," he says at last, realizing just how cursedly vulnerable he sounds just a moment too late. He clears his throat, looks away, doesn't see Richie's face fall.

"No," his friend says at last, and out of the corner of his eye, Eddie sees him drop his hand again. "I never could."

The silence that falls over them is painful, lasting far, far too long. Eddie has no idea how long it is before he can force himself into motion again, glancing back at Richie and saying cautiously, "You couldn't sleep?"

Richie seems just as relieved by the change of subject as Eddie, something he tries not to overthink. "Nope," he sighs, and just like that, it's as if a switch has flipped - or as if Richie's slapped on another one of his masks, another persona to ignore his problems. "Figured I might as well come annoy you."

Eddie doesn't quite manage his usual smile in return. "It's... it's kinda late, Richie." He isn't surprised; Richie's philosophy seems to be _"if I have to suffer, so does Eddie."_

"Yeah, I know," Richie sighs. "I tried fallin' asleep for forever, but it didn't work. I'm not bothering you, am I?"

He's quick to shake his head, replying slowly, "No... no, it's just... no. Don't worry about it."

Part of him is frightened. Part of him hopes that Richie will keep trying to make this normal, keep pushing past _that,_ but the rest of him is terrified of the exact same thing, because normal, for them, means - 

"You're not gonna kick me out, are you?" Richie is saying, and Eddie's stomach lurches. Yep, there, there it is, that's what he's scared of. "I mean, it's completely fine if you want me to leave, trust me, I'm not gonna, like, _make_ you let me stay - "

"No," Eddie broke in, and his voice cracks. "No, you can - you can stay, it's fine, yeah... just... just normal, right?"

Richie pauses then, for all of a heartbeat, and the next glance he gives Eddie is almost... almost calculating. Eddie flushes red, looks away, finds little relief in the way Richie finally nods. "Yeah, Eds, just like normal," he replies, and there's a smile in his voice, one Eddie doesn't manage to reciprocate when he feels Richie ruffle his hair. "I just need somewhere to crash, and anyway, you wanted me over here in the first place. You don't want me crashing my car on the way back home because I was too tired to see straight, do you?"

Eddie takes about a half-second too long to realize what's wrong with that sentence, but he's still fumbling out "you don't even have a car" while Richie starts rearranging the sheets to fold his longass legs under them, making himself comfortable, as always. "You ride a bike, you don't - "

"Shut up, Eds, logic doesn't suit you," Richie says with a dismissive wave of his hand, taking off his glasses to stretch across and set them on the nightstand. Eddie's eyes dart lower, down to the thin strip of pale skin exposed where his friend's shirt rode up, before he catches himself, looking back to Richie's face in the next instant. "C'mon, Spaghetti, get comfortable, it's bedtime."

It's on the tip of his tongue to protest again, but Richie has already settled in, propped up on his elbow on one side of the bed and watching him with that soft, open smile. He always looks so much different without his glasses - he really only wears them if he left the house in a rush these days, so it's not much of a surprise that he came over with them, instead of contacts - and, well... Eddie likes it.

He really does.

Breathing out slowly, Eddie nods, glances past him to the clock on the nightstand. Yeah, it's... it's definitely bedtime, and Eddie knows for a damn fact he isn't going to be sleeping well tonight. Nonetheless, mumbling a vague "g'night, Rich," he lays back, reaching down to pull the thinnest sheet up around his shoulders. He's still feverish, not quite burning alive like he had been before, but far, far from comfortable. Sighing shakily, he turns to present his back to Richie, halfway burrowed into his pillow. He's almost settled in, but - 

"Eds," comes his friend's voice, soft and coaxing from behind him, and Eddie goes still. "Hey, it's seriously okay... for real. Just sleepin' over, right?"

There's a note of something else in his voice, something Eddie can't quite place; he's distracted from it when he feels Richie scoot closer in bed, feels him lay a delicate hand on his shoulder. "Eds?"

Eddie swallows hard, closes his eyes. "Yeah," he says at last, and forces himself to relax, letting Richie curl around him the way they've always done, since they were kids and spending the night and staying up way too late to talk and laugh. "Yeah... right."

Richie loops his arm around Eddie's waist and his chin on top of his head, heaving a sigh that Eddie feels through his entire body. "Right," he repeats, and there it is again, that undertone Eddie has no clue how to label. "Alright, c'mon, it's bedtime, 'm tired as fuck. Quit talkin' to me, Eds."

The yawn he gives sounds greatly exaggerated, but he goes quiet after that, so Eddie guesses he isn't entirely lying.

Masking his sigh as a yawn of his own, Eddie closes his eyes, trying to hide how rigidly he's poised against Richie's chest. His friend doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he gives no indication, merely pulling him back a little closer to turn him into the best possible body pillow.

Eddie is entirely used to this, but not in these circumstances.

Still, there's no point in talking, and so he doesn't. He just lays there.

God knows how many hours pass before he manages to drift off, or if it's even hours at all.

The last thought to pass through his head before he sinks into hesitant slumber is fleeting, barely coherent at all...

_Sadness. He sounded sad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of plot with your porn, sorry! Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Comments / criticism welcome!
> 
> <3


	3. three

Eddie has no clue how long he manages to sleep before, inevitably, things go wrong again. They tend to do that a lot, it seems.

At first, he's only vaguely aware of Richie's warmth pressed closed against his chest - nothing new, really, considering how many nights they've fallen asleep like this. Then, slowly, other sensations creep in past his dreamy haze: a familiar ache between his thighs, the pressure of something there... a voice, choked and frantic and almost comical in its confusion. Eddie whines when the object between his legs pulls away, bucks uselessly against the air, only partway registers the voice squeaking his name in return.

The voice.

Fuck.

He's fully awake in a flash, shoving out blindly with his hands and nearly pushing both himself and Richie backward off the bed with the force behind the movement. He has barely a second to realize that that had been Richie's leg, he had - he had been - 

"Eds," Richie is saying, no, repeating, over and over again, and he sounds just as confused as anything, and a little bit strained, but mostly, there's - fear? _What is he afraid of?_ thinks Eddie, in the moment before he begins to cry.

Richie reaches out for him immediately, grabbing at the arms he raises to hide his face against. "Wait, no, Eds - Eddie, it's okay, it's _okay,_ please just look at me, Eddie, c'mon - "

He jerks back away from the touch, knees drawn up high and frightened eyes only partly focused when he forces them open, forces himself to obey. He's looking at Richie through a film of tears, tears that keep spilling over and running down his face, salty when they touch his lips or tongue, and for an instant, the thought runs through his mind that maybe this is how Richie sees things every day - blurry, indistinct, unnerving in the anonymity. "I'm sorry," he chokes out, and he sounds so weak, so pitiful, it hurts even himself.

Even this blind, he doesn't miss the way Richie's face crumples.

"Eddie, fuck, no, don't apologize," he fumbles out, pushing himself up onto his elbows to reach for him again; Eddie flinches back, gives this strangled whine he doesn't even recognize, isn't even surprised when Richie ignores it entirely in favor of wrapping one arm around him. He only just has the capacity to be grateful for the way Richie doesn't try to pull him in close, just _holds_ him there, keeps the contact steady. "It's alright, Eds, seriously, I promise..."

"No, it's _not,"_ Eddie chokes out in protest, hiccuping over a sob. He knows he should be quiet, knows the chance of his mom waking up is way too great, but he can't stop, he can't _stop **crying**_ and he hates himself for it, but he hates himself for what he'd done even more, and it's only made worse by the way he's still fucking hard, his goddamn dreams and hormones and _whatever_ fucking determined to ruin his life - 

Richie reaches for him with his other hand, nudges his own hands aside to brush his hair back out of his eyes, to wipe away the tears running steadily down his cheeks. "Eddie," he breaks in, his voice low and insistent, for all that it trembles. Only now does Eddie realize that Richie is bright red, and that he looks just as frightened. "Eddie... earlier, you were - that was... was that because of me...?"

Eddie goes rigid, feels his whole entire body lock up even as he tries to recoil. There isn't any bed left at his back, and Richie is close, so close, close enough that when he slides his hand to cup Eddie's cheek and force his chin upward, he can feel his friend's breath against his tearstreaked skin. He wants to - needs to - say "no," to deny it, to protest in any fucking way he can, but the words stick and die halfway up his throat, weighed down by the choking sobs that interrupt his every breath, and what comes out is another apology, another broken, "I'm sorry."

This time, there's no missing the way Richie's eyes go wide and his face goes pale, completely drained of all that color in less than a second.

"Please don't hate me," Eddie goes on, his voice cracking with the effort it takes not to break entirely. "Please, I'm sorry, I - I know it's wrong, I'm sorry - "

He has no fucking clue what he says beyond that, only barely aware of the way he's running his mouth, forcing out apologies in every way he can imagine, fumbling for the words that will make Richie stop _staring_ at him like that - 

Suddenly, snapping out of a haze, Richie shakes his head, going straight back to bright red in the split second it takes for him to scoot closer, shoving Eddie's hands away from his face and replacing them with his own - and before Eddie can pull away, can try to plea for forgiveness yet again, Richie's hands are cupping his face, and he's right there above him, against him, and his - his lips are covering Eddie's - and he's kissing him.

Richie is kissing him.

Richie is kissing him, and Eddie goes still.

It's completely out of nowhere, and it's completely unfamiliar, and Eddie has no fucking clue what to do, or why this is even happening, and all too soon, Richie pulls back, and Eddie is reaching after him before he even knows he's lifted a hand, grabbing for his shirt with the sort of desperation he only ever feels when his throat is closing up and he can't breathe.

He can't breathe right now, either, for about five hundred fucking different reasons.

He's halfway twisted over, pinned by Richie's weight on his chest, held in place by Richie's hands on his face, and he knows he has to look like a fucking wreck, still fucking crying even as he tries to catch the fuck up, but Richie... Richie is staring again, looking down at him with an expression Eddie can only classify as awe, his eyes wide and lips still parted and breath coming short and face still flushed.

"You're such a dumbass," Richie whispers at last, and the words are spoken so softly, with such affectionate frustration, that Eddie has no clue what to do with himself. "You're so - fuck, Eds, you're - did you really think I didn't like you? Did you _seriously_ think I haven't spent half my fucking life obsessed with you?"

What?

"What?" Eddie manages, his voice thick and clogged with tears and probably snot, _fuck, did he seriously just kiss me like **this,** did he just - did he just **kiss** me?_

Richie opens his mouth to speak again, gets out part of a syllable, gives up and shakes his head. Eddie is about to repeat his fucking eloquent question, or at least try to, but Richie's mouth is already on his again, firm and insistent and - 

and - fuck.

Going nearly boneless, Eddie finally gives up on trying to fucking understand, pushing down the panic welling up in his throat and letting himself move again, working his arms out from between them to loop them around Richie's neck and keep him close. He's never been kissed, something Richie likely already knows but will never hear him admit aloud, and he has no fucking clue what he's doing, but Richie...

Richie knows what he's doing, and that much is obvious, if in nothing else except the way he's coaxing Eddie into motion, getting him to reciprocate in his own clumsy way. It'd be obvious even if Eddie wasn't nearly positive his friend - _friend?_ \- had done this before. He doesn't want to know with whom it would have been.

All too soon - as always - Richie pulls away, brushing the last of Eddie's tears aside with fingertips that are just as gentle as ever. "You're so fucking stupid sometimes," he murmurs, and his voice is rough and deep and affectionate, something Eddie isn't used to in the slightest. "Don't cry... it's okay, Eds. It's okay."

Eddie sucks in a gasp of air the second he's able, insanely grateful that his throat isn't closing up quite yet. "You're - you - you're gay?" is the very first thing he manages to say.

The laugh Richie gives sounds completely unexpected, even to him. "Fuck if I know, Eds," he says. "I know I like _you,_ though... and that's more than enough for me."

That would be great, if Eddie wasn't still in fucking shock. He's staring up at Richie with wide eyes, still not entirely sure he isn't dreaming, or that Richie isn't pranking him... "Not a joke?" he forces out at last, small and weak and frightened.

"Eddie, _no,"_ Richie breathes, and he sounds so hurt, so genuine, that Eddie feels instantly bad for saying that aloud. "God, no, I wouldn't - I'd never do that to you, I swear. I promise I'm not joking this time."

Eddie is quiet at first, nervous eyes on Richie's own. Only now does he notice that the other boy's lips are kiss-swollen just the slightest bit, his cheeks flushed... eyes a shade or two darker. Eddie bites his lip, shifts beneath his friend, is more startled than anything else when Richie moves, nudging Eddie's legs apart with his own weight and settling between them. He has no fucking clue what to do with this, with the way it puts some of Richie's weight against _him - _

He jerks then, his hips bucking up against the pressure before he has a chance to restrain himself; Richie's eyes go wide again, and it's on the tip of Eddie's tongue to apologize, he's about to try and squirm away, but - but Richie is already moving, shifting up higher on his knees, pressing one up between his thighs, and - 

and - oh.

_Oh._

Eddie chokes on a noise he can't even place, digging his nails in where his arms are still around Richie's shoulders in a desperate attempt to keep himself still. "What are you - "

"It's okay," Richie breaks in, pulling back despite Eddie's hold until he can brace himself on the bed, other hand resting on his side. "It's okay, Eds, don't worry... you trust me, right?"

He gives a nervous whine, because, yeah, he trusts Richie with his fucking life, but this... this is different, this is new, this is - 

"Eddie," Richie says, insistent enough that he has no choice but to snap out of his internal frenzy and listen, "if you want me to quit, I will - you know I'd never do anything like that, right? You just have to tell me... but if you want this, if you want - " and here he presses up with his knee again, just hard enough that it punches a broken moan from Eddie's chest " - help, you've gotta trust me..."

It's never been more apparent that Richie is more experienced at this, better at this, than Eddie will ever be than it is now.

He really, _really_ doesn't want to think about that, not when Richie is looking at him like that, his eyes so dark and intent and... and _heated._

"I - I want this," Eddie mumbles at last, and he can feel himself going bright red, his entire face hot. "If you - if you promise you're not gonna leave..."

Richie shakes his head, leans down, kisses his forehead with a kind of tenderness Eddie is completely unaccustomed to. "I'm not gonna leave you," he murmurs, squeezing gently where his hand is resting on Eddie's side, "never in a million years. You're stuck with me, Eds, you got that? Gotta live with it."

He breathes out a faint laugh then, more relieved than he can say; when Richie shifts lower, he tilts his head up to meet him halfway, kissing him back with a complete lack of technique. It doesn't seem to bother Richie that much, since the older boy is already pressing closer, pushing his thigh up that much harder, laughing against him when Eddie _whines._

Richie draws back then, asking softly, "Do you want me to touch you? I can get you off like this if you want, or... It's up to you, just tell me what you want..."

He only barely has the capacity to be grateful for that - it's kinda fucking hard to think with Richie's thigh right up against his cock, just enough pressure to make him whimper when he next shifts on the bed. "You can - you can touch me," he mumbles, his voice cracking as he drops his head back. "I want you to..."

The other boy breathes in slowly, finally nods as he sits back. Richie's leg is gone from between Eddie's thighs in the next moment, and he starts to protest, only to fall silent, hanging on tighter to his friend's shoulders as Richie starts tugging his shorts down and off, tossing them aside. Feeling Eddie go tense, Richie glances up, repeating, "Are you sure? It's up to you."

"No, I'm - I'm sure," Eddie insists softly, even as he goes red. "This is... I dreamed about this..."

Eddie didn't even know Richie's eyes could get that big, or go that dark.

"Fuck," Richie breathes, and the word sounds almost forced, breathless. "Fuck, okay..." With a faint laugh, he sits up a little more as he runs his fingertips along the waistband of Eddie's briefs, looking him over. "That's my hoodie, isn't it?" he asks.

Blushing even more furiously, he nods, looking away. The hoodie in question is easily two or three sizes too big, long enough that he could wear it on its own, long enough that the sleeves hang past his hands even now. He loves it, not just because of those things, but because it still smells like Richie, even though he stole it ages ago.

Richie smiles then, but it's... different somehow, darker, almost dangerous. Eddie shivers under his gaze, letting his arms drop from where they'd been looped around his neck to lay awkwardly at his sides. "You look beautiful in it," Richie murmurs, leaning down to kiss his cheek as he pulls the briefs down off of Eddie's hips, just as slow and gentle as ever.

Distracted by how fucking hot his face feels, Eddie jerks, giving a startled gasp as soon as Richie's hand closes around his cock. Richie is gentle like always, not even moving yet, letting him adjust, but he's never been touched there, barely even by himself, and for this to be _real - _ "Richie..."

"You're okay," Richie croons, and his voice so deep and rough and raw sends another tremor along Eddie's spine. He turns his head away, halfway hiding in the pillow, not knowing what else to do as Richie takes advantage to kiss down his throat. "You're okay, baby, just relax and trust me, okay? Trust me..."

"I do," he manages, fists tight within the sleeves of his hoodie. "I - I trust you..."

Richie smiles against him - fuck, Eddie can feel his lips curl against his skin. "Just relax," he repeats softly, finally starting to move. His hands are so much bigger than Eddie's, they always have been, and it's nothing for him to cover his cock with just a little movement, for him to have Eddie shaking almost immediately. He gives a soft laugh at the way Eddie's hips jerk. "There we go, baby, like that..."

_Baby._

There are tears pricking at the corners of his eyes again, but for a completely different reason, one he doesn't even understand himself. Spreading his legs a little farther apart to push up into Richie's hand, he breathes out, "Can - can you keep calling me that...? Please...?"

"'Baby?'" Richie repeats, and Eddie nods, lifting a hand to cover his face, to hide the tears. "Hey, Eds, it's okay... it's okay, baby, just relax..."

Flushing redder than before, Eddie shakes his head, his breath stuttering over a soft moan when Richie's thumb swipes across the dripping tip of his cock. He squirms then, bracing one foot on the bed just to push up that much harder, chasing the sensations that are threatening to overwhelm him far too soon. Whimpering when Richie tightens his grip just the slightest, Eddie buries his face in both hands, trying to hang on. "S - sorry - "

"Don't apologize," he interjects, rucking up the hoodie with his free hand so he can flatten his palm across Eddie's chest, steadying him with that grounding touch. "You're okay, I promise... talk to me, alright? Tell me what you dreamed about..."

Eddie doesn't even know if he can get any redder than he is right now, his entire body fucking flaming hot with Richie's voice, his hands... "About - about you," he mumbles, trying desperately for the easy way out.

Richie isn't having any of that, though.

He senses, rather than sees, Richie shake his head, feels the subtle twist of his hand around his cock that makes him jerk again, whining out against his sweater paws. "I know that," Richie murmurs, and there's something almost like teasing in his voice now, something that makes Eddie squirm, unsure if he wants to pull away or push closer. "What about me, though...? Tell me what I was doing..."

He's quiet at first, hoping Richie will let it drop, hoping Richie will just keep touching him, but - but then Richie's hand goes still, and he almost pulls back, and - "No! No, no, I - you were - "

Richie wraps his hand around him once again, but he still isn't moving, he's just sitting there, he's just _waiting,_ and, fuck...

"You were - you were watching me," Eddie mumbles at last, forcing the words past a haze of fucking fear. "Watching me touch myself... and - and you told me what to do..."

He hears Richie breathe in, hears the exhale come out slow and shaky. "Fuck," he murmurs, and thank _god,_ he's moving again, jacking Eddie off in the slowest, most torturous way possible, but it's _something._ "You like that? Bein' told what to do?"

How the fuck he is supposed to answer that? _Yeah, maybe, I don't know, how the hell would I know?_ "I - I don't - "

Fortunately for his own fucking sanity, Richie is already running his mouth again before he can keep fumbling. "Next time... next time, invite me over, alright? I can take care of you..."

It's not quite a promise and not quite a threat, and it isn't exactly an order, either; what it is, is just fucking enough for Eddie to jerk and cry out again, weak and pitiful against his sleeves. He's crying again, torn between overstimulation and fear and something else, something he has no fucking clue how to label, something that's only partially soothed by the hand Richie keeps firm on his chest, holding him down. "You're alright, baby," Richie whispers, slowing his hand enough that Eddie isn't shaking quite as badly. "Baby, it's okay, can you look at me...? Can you do that for me?"

He really has no idea if he can - hell, he doesn't even know if he can pull his hands away from his face, but... sucking in a desperate breath, he forces himself to obey, keeping his hands bunched together just below his nose as he glances to Richie, once again only barely visible through the film of tears. Richie is quick to react, reaching to brush the tears aside and leaning down to kiss his forehead. "You're okay," he repeats softly. "I promise... do you want me to stop? It's okay if you do, baby, you just gotta tell me..."

Eddie shakes his head, grabbing for his shoulders again; Richie lets himself be pulled down, lets Eddie hide his face in the curve of his shoulder and hang on tight. "Don't stop," he mumbles, his voice breaking. "It's - it's okay, I'm sorry, it's just - I've never - "

"I know," Richie murmurs, shifting his weight on the bed to cradle Eddie's head close. "I know, baby, you're okay... try to relax, alright? I've got you..."

He manages to nod, curling up into Richie's chest as his friend twists his hand; the next brush of Richie's thumb across the head makes him jerk and cry out, weak and pitiful. He's fucking dripping, precum leaking steadily from his cock as he shivers under Richie's touch. "'m close," he manages softly, voice muffled. "It's - it's too much, I can't - "

If anything, Richie just redoubles his efforts, jerking him off that much faster as he turns his head to kiss the side of his throat, keeping his lips pressed there. "Go ahead," he murmurs, and Eddie trembles under the vibration. "Go ahead, baby, it's okay... let me hear you..."

Eddie doesn't stand a chance. He's too strung out, too tense, too fucking shaky - bucking up into Richie's palm, he falls apart, spilling over his hand with a choked little sob. It's the second time he's cum that night, and fuck, he feels wrecked, shuddering with oversensitivity already. Richie helps him ride it out, movements just as gentle as ever; it isn't until Eddie hears his friend's voice, low and soothing and close against his ear, that he realizes he'd truly whited out, completely fucking gone for a minute or two.

Breathing out shakily against Richie's shoulder, he tries to squirm away, relaxing with a gasp when the other boy lets go. "Are you okay?" Richie asks, pulling back to brush his tears aside once again. Eddie nods, watching him in a daze; he feels another rush of shame when Richie wipes off the mess on his own shirt, grimacing. "You did great, Eds..."

Even if Eddie wanted to, he isn't sure he could force out another word right now; he feels worn raw, exhausted... he just wants to rest. So, with a soft whine, he reaches for Richie again, feels nothing but relief when his friend lays down at his side, pulling him back into his arms. He's still trembling, just a little, enough that Richie reaches down for the sheets, but Eddie is quick to stop him, grabbing for his hand with a noise of protest.

"Too warm?" Richie says quietly, and Eddie nods, tucking his head under Richie's chin and closing his eyes. "Okay... you just rest, alright? I'll clean you off whenever I wake up next..."

... but Eddie is already drifting off, pressed in close to Richie's chest, the discomfort of sleeping halfway naked paling in comparison to how relaxed he is now. With a yawn, he curls up tighter, melts when his friend wraps his arms around him again to pull him that much closer.

The last thing he hears before he finally passes out is Richie's voice, soft and fond and gentle, right against his ear.

"I love you, Eds..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got it done! I hope you guys enjoy. Thanks so much for the support!
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober kinda didn't work, but is that going to stop me from writing from the list? Nope.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Comments / criticism welcome.
> 
> <3


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